


The Affairs Of Strangers

by LukasV



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Aliases, Biting, Dirty Talk, GN Reader, Oral Sex, Other, Smut, Some Plot, Threats of Violence, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23350894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LukasV/pseuds/LukasV
Summary: After your father leaves you his Ranch in his will, you have spent five long years doing your best to keep things running and adjusting to your new life in Lemoyne. The Braithwaite family, as uptight as they are, have helped you out over the years and you have become close business partners with them.One evening, you are greeted by the curious stranger ‘Tacitus Kilgore’ in the Rhodes parlour house. You knew Rhodes well, but had never seen this man before. The more you chat, the more questions he asks and you find yourself drawn to him…  But is he really who he seems?
Relationships: Dutch van der Linde/Reader, Dutch van der Linde/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This fic is a gift for Strwxberrymilk on Tumblr who won my 100 follower fic giveaway~ They asked for some Dutchxreader smut and I was more than thrilled to deliver 0//0
> 
> It's ended up a bit too long to throw into one chapter, so I'm going to split it over two, enjoy part 1!

You fiddled with the pocketwatch in your hand, turning it over and over in frustration. The carriage bumped and jostled and you turned your attention to the window, recognising the vague shadows of Lemoyne through the darkness.

_What a goddamn waste of a day._

You had attended the annual livery and livestock show in Valentine to bid on some new thoroughbreds for breeding, but you had left empty handed.

Your father had left you the large ranch a few years ago in his will and you had promised him on his deathbed that you would do everything you could to keep things running, but your inexperience seemed to be nothing but a hindrance.

His passing had been quick, sudden and you had found yourself thrust into the business world with very little preparation. You were raised in the city, home schooled by the finest tutors… yet here you were, slogging through mud-sunken farm towns playing the part of a ranch owner but being treated like anything but.

The Braithwaite family had been your only saving grace when you had relocated to Scarlett Meadows, offering you the opportunity of a long-term breeding program with some of their prized stallions. The deal wasn’t exactly what you would have called ‘fair’ when it came to profits, and they were almost certainly using you, but they were one of the largest and most successful families in the state and it had seemed wise to build bridges.

Your dealings with Miss Catherine Braithwaite over the past few years had earned you a solid reputation with the family and you had often been invited over for social gatherings. As tight-lipped and snobbish as they were, your fathers ranch would have been long-dead if it were not for them.

In the far distance you spot the warm glow of Rhodes. You slip the pocketwatch into your satchel, brushing off your clothes and buttoning your jacket.

Slowly but surely the carriage winds its way towards the dusty town.

But neither you nor the driver realise, the white stallion and its rider.

Trailing a fair distance behind, sticking close to the treeline but keeping pace with you.

***

You hop down from the carriage and make your way to the driver, leaving your luggage on the seat.

“That’ll be...” he double checks some notes in a small book “$25 friend”

Your eyes blow wide.

“Twenty-five dollars?! What the hell?… It was only an hour or so journey!” you almost yell, your mouth hanging open.

“Sorry friend” he smiles and shakes his head “Stage companies been experiencing a rise in robberies recently, we’ve lost four carriages this month alone, have had to up fairs to cover the damage”

 _Great. Nice of you to let me know this AFTER I make the journey_ you fume.

You felt cheated, but still have more than enough on you to cover it, shoving a palmful of notes reluctantly into his gloved hand and returning to collect your bag.

It lay on the seat seemingly how you had left it.

You turn towards the parlour house. You were not usually one for alcohol but _by god_ today had called for it.

The bar is surprisingly quiet, just a few locals and the gentle sound of the piano from it’s corner. Alot of the rowdier sorts had already been and gone, as made apparent by the hastily-swept shards of broken glass on the floor.

Your mind couldn’t help but recall what the coach driver had mentioned about the robberies. You had heard similar stories from some of the other ranchers over in New Hanover and West Elizabeth of livestock rustling and payroll deliveries disappearing without a trace. All apparently by the same gang, but you couldn't quite recall the name they had mentioned at that moment.

_Just who were these people? Nasty sons of bitches no doubt._

You are so deep in thought that you jump at the voice above you.

“Pardon me friend, please forgive my interruption, but I do believe this belongs to you”

The stranger lowers a silver pocketwatch onto your table, intricately engraved with delicate lily flowers and a pair of initials.

_Your father’s initials._

“oh..it is!” you turn it over in your palm “where did you?… I didn’t even know I’d dropped it...” you finally look up at the stranger “Thank you si-”

You pause. 

Rhodes had been your home for years now, you knew it like the back of your hand, its people even more so.

Yet this man, you have never seen before.

He was tall, broad-shouldered and impeccably dressed, with fine jewellery to match. Jet black hair slicked back and falling into tight curls that framed the bottom of his neck, topped off with a well-groomed style of facial hair that just oozed character. On his hip sat two holsters each holding a delicately engraved and customised revolver. It was clear he was certainly _no_ rancher or farmhand.

The stranger tips the rim of his hat and nods “you are _most_ welcome...oh! Just _where_ are my manners?” he strikes a hand to his chest before reaching it out towards you.

“Tacitus Kilgore, pleasure to meet you”

You bite back a snort, being mindful of your politeness. _Just what the hell sort of name even is that?_

“I know” he chuckles “blame my parents” and for a second you are worried he can read your mind.

You take his hand and shake it firmly, realising this is probably your cue to introduce yourself, but as you open your mouth to talk your late fathers words echo in your head.

“Y/N, if a stranger you can’t trust one hundred percent asks for your name, never ever give a real one”

He had always been an incredibly tetchy and nervous man, and it was probably for the best really.

You shake his hand once more “Vic Abberton, nice to meet you sir” _Vic_ _Abberton_ _? Was that really the best you could come up with?_

He smiles, but there is a look in his eyes you can’t quite place, suspicion maybe? You couldn’t blame him… you were a terrible liar.

“May I?” he asks, gesturing to the empty chair opposite you.

“Uhh, sure” you nod and he takes a seat, lifting one leg to rest over the other, slowly and deliberately.

“forgive my… _curiosity,_ but are you familiar at all with the _land_ ‘round here?” he asks bluntly.

You’re caught off guard by the forwardness of the question, spinning your bottle of beer around and around in place on the table while your mind raced for a reply.

_Of course you knew the land. Knew it so well you could draw a map of it. Knew it so well you were working with one of the most established families in the state,_

But something about his insistence feels… off.

“pretty familiar, I guess, I’ve lived here a few years now” your raise your eyes to his and find that _look_ in them again.

_You could kick yourself for your unconvincing way with words._

“Why do you ask?” you shoot back at him, keen to find out just what his deal is.

“Oohh nothing nefarious, I promise” he laughs, raising his hands “It’s just that I bought myself some land up near Dewberry Creek, planning to settle down there with the wife and kids, they do _so love_ the country, so-” he gestures vaguely around himself “- _here I am_ ”

You felt more at ease hearing that, relaxing into your chair and taking another swig of your drink to find it almost empty already.

Part of you feels almost _jealous_ at the discovery that he was a taken man, and you curse yourself for even thinking such thoughts. You were never usually like this with people, let alone strangers, but something about him was so… captivating. He exuded charm and confidence in such a way that was rare to see so far south.

“Tell ya what, how about I grab us a few drinks?” he asks, not even waiting for your reply before strolling over to the bartender.

He returns a minute or so later, sliding a shot of whiskey across the table to you and retaking his seat with his own.

You were not a fan of such heavy liquor, but take the free drink gratefully, knocking the small glass back and gagging a little at the burn.

He does the same, but with far less drama.

You swear you can already feel the alcohol drifting up to your head, a heat building in your cheeks. You had never been one to take your drink well.

Mr Kilgore smiles, eyes on you the whole time, twirling the empty shot glass between his fingers.

“I’ve noticed” he speaks finally “The law in this town seems to be awfully, how do I put it… _close knit?”_

“You can say that again, The Grey family damn near runs the operation, they got sheriffs, jailers, bounty hunters, you name it” you spit out, eyebrows furrowing in frustration “make life a living hell for most people, especially the Braithwaites”

“Oh?” He asks, leaning closer “The Braithwaites?”

“They’re a big family round these parts” you reply “ranchers, livestock breeders and… some other things too, the Greys can’t stand another family with that sort of money calling Rhodes home”

Mr Kilgore’s lips twitch at that, teasing a grin “what _sort_ of money exactly?”

Your mouth went dry, these weren’t really _your_ rumours to be spreading.

“Ahh… I don’t know, they mostly keep to themselves, I don’t know much more than anyone else”

_Another lie._

It seems to be a good enough answer for Mr Kilgore however, who hums in response and looks to his lap. He runs a hand through his hair, twirling a curl in thought for a few seconds before returning his attention to you again, “and who _are_ you exactly, friend?”

_This man sure does ask a lot of questions_

“Nobody special I’m afraid”

Mr Kilgore leans in close across the table, his large hand finding yours and resting on it “Oh, my friend, I very much doubt that”

Your heart jumps and you flush deep red.

“You know...” he continues “ _you_ strike me as an individual of _fine taste_ ” he gestures at your smart clothes and jewellery “I _admire_ that in folk” he purrs and you feel the mood shift, “If I didn’t know any better I’d guess you were some big-city business-sort”

his smile grows, a flash of teeth now, eyes raking up and down your body.

“Oh not really, I just like to dress the part” you lie through your smile, thankful that the sensible part of your brain hadn’t been entirely overshadowed

Had it been any other day and any other man you would have already begun making plans to leave, but he was _intoxicating_ in every way, and it had been long, far too long since you had had the opportunity to feel something like this. The alcohol wasn’t helping of course.

He brings one leg up and rests it over the over, leaning his elbows into it and knitting his fingers together, the light catches something and you realise now the glimmer of gold on his right hand. Two large extravagant rings, one that looked like a lions head and the other, square and embellished with… a letter D?

Your eyebrow twitches the tiniest bit, _what a_ _n odd_ _choice of design._

***

The two of you chat for another hour or so.

He doesn't buy you another drink, but you are thankful for that, your brain still bathing in the haze of that first shot.

The more the two of you speak, the more enraptured you become with him. He tells stories of his time spent working for the newspaper, his travels across West Elizabeth and New Austin.

You hadn’t noticed, but he had inched his chair closer, leaning across the space between you with his chin resting in one hand, the other on the table barely touching your own. His eyes, dark and inquisitive, never leave your own and you feel small in their glare.

Mr Kilgore hums, deep and low in his chest, fingers brushing over yours, leaning in further until your faces are inches apart “forgive my brashness but, I must say… you are making me imagine the most... _impure thoughts”_ he growls, the aroma of whiskey and cigar smoke on his breath “I’ll admit I have a weakness for... _lovely_ little things like you”

A wave of heat radiates down your stomach and pools between your legs. Nobody had ever spoken to you like this before… but his praise is like a drug. In that moment you forget everything, his woman, his children… they weren’t here now.

_They wouldn't know a thing._

“What do you say we… move somewhere a little more quiet?” the smirk never leaves, eyes heavy-lidded “I’d love to hear more about you Abberton… I’m a _curious_ man you see”

This was all moving too quickly.

Something deep, deep down in your head was screaming and kicking wildly at you to come to your senses and think, but you betray it.

“I’d… I’d like that sir”

“Perfect” he rises from his chair and begins to make his way upstairs, pausing and turning back.

“and be _sure_ to bring your bag” he grins “The next feller to find your lost property might not be so considerate”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I'm gonna be honest I'm not TOO thrilled with how this came out in the end, it felt like it was going a bit too far down the noncon route so I had to pull a bit of a u-turn halfway through, hopefully its not too noticeable though 0//0
> 
> enjoy!

As you step into the dimly lit room, you feel like a teenager again, clumsy and desperate. You drop your satchel at the foot of the bed and gingerly remove your coat, hooking it on the rack in the corner.

Mr Kilgore crosses the room and begins to fiddle with a match, striking it along the window frame before bringing it close to the oil lamp on the wall. In seconds the room is filled with the gentle glare of it’s light.

He glances towards you, then the window, as if deliberating.

“Would you be a _dear_ and head over to the general store for me? Pick us up some liquor and cigarettes?” he reaches into the pocket of his vest, bringing out a stack of notes and fingering through them, “I know the bar’s just downstairs, but in my experience it’s always cheaper to pour your own” he winks.

You take the money and he approaches you from behind, hands on your shoulders ushering you forwards to the door, you feel his breath at your neck.

“Run along now”

You would normally hate being spoken to like this, but once again his demeanour is overpowering, your shoulders still on fire where he had held them.

You had spent so many years pretending to be the person you promised your father you would be, smart, sensible and competent but just this once… you wanted to forget about that, wanted to _live_ a little.

_In hindsight, you were a fool._

***

The general store was quiet, empty if not for yourself and the shopkeep.

“Good evening!” he greets, sweeping a small pile of dust out of the back door “You might wanna be quick I’m afraid, closing up in a few minutes”

“Sorry, just picking up a few bits, wont be a minute” you promise, instantly feeling bad for coming in so late.

You grab a few bottles of whisky and some fine-aged bourbon, placing them onto the counter and fingering through the notes in your hand.

You were interrupted by the sudden bell of the shop door.

“Oh! Deputy MacGregor, good evening!” the shopkeep smiles, neatening his apron “c-can I help you sir?”

You turn to see the lawman backing into the store and kicking the door shut behind him with his foot, a stack of papers in his arms. He tips his hat awkwardly to the both of you.

“Evening, can’t stick around I’m afraid, just dropping by with some bounty posters, you got space on the bulletin?”

“O-of course sir, you go right ahead… so, who’s it this time eh?”

“Van Der Linde Gang” The deputy replies, tacking a handful of posters to the bulletin “fresh off the press in Blackwater, just arrived by stage not a minute ago, seems there’s been a few sightings in New Hanover”

Your ears pricked at that.

_The Van Der Linde Gang, that was their name!_

The gang the other ranchers had spoken of.

Brutal, crafty and elusive… criminals in the most classic of ways.

You walked closer to inspect the posters, expecting to be met with the usual twisted and grisled sneers of wanted outlaws, but you were surprised to find quite the opposite.

‘Arthur Morgan’ A younger looking man, possibly late 20s early 30s, hair parted gently on the left with the odd strands falling over soft eyes. ‘Wanted for murder, robbery and rustling REWARD $5000’

The next was an older man, a face that spoke of years of experience and knowledge. ‘Hosea Matthews’, he looked more like a grandfather than an outlaw. ‘Wanted for Robbery, bank fraud and gambling scams, REWARD $8000’

_Jesus, you had never seen bounty prices this high before._

You turned your attention to the final poster.

‘Dutch Van Der Linde, notorious leader of the Van Der Linde Gang, Wanted DEAD OR ALIVE for Robbery, Murder, Assault and Kidnapping, REWARD $10,000’

This man wasn't quite as old as the other, dark eyes matched with even darker hair smoothed back and falling into curls, well groomed facial hair and-

and-

You felt your stomach lurch, the floor seeming to fall out from underneath you as the puzzle piece finally clicks into place.

_It was him._

_Mr Kilgore… no._

_Dutch Van Der Linde._

You heartbeat booms in your ears and your legs feel like jelly.

He had had you right around his finger the whole time, a tongue of silver, weaving a web around you with charm and words and lies, and you had fallen right into it willingly… foolishly.

_You goddamn idiot_ You curse yourself _You absolute_ _moron._

_Leave, run away, run home right now._

_You could slip away right now and he’d be none the wiser, he’d never find you again._

You flee from the store, not even bothering to pick up your purchases, your brain buzzing with a mix of terror and adrenaline as you point yourself towards home, reaching into your satchel to check the time and-

you felt like you could be sick.

_Your satchel, all of your stuff… you had left it up in the room with him_

_Shit._

You couldn't leave it there. It contained all of your belongings, your paperwork, your accounts. One look in that bag would tell him everything about you. Where you lived, your name, who you worked for, how much money you _really_ had.

You wrenched your body around and reluctantly headed back to the parlour house, steps heavy and sluggish as if your feet were made of iron.

_You had to get it back._

***

You stand in the doorway to the room, pushing the door open gently, thankful that it hadn’t been latched.

Mr Kilgore, no… Dutch, is stood on the far side of the room facing the window, his back to you and a column of thick cigar smoke rising above him. He doesn’t seem to notice your return.

All of the thrill and adrenaline from earlier was gone, replaced with a primal and sickening numbness… and disappointment in your naivety.

You could see your bag exactly where you had left it at the foot of the bed. All you had to do was grab it quietly and get out.

_Run far away and keep running._

_don't look back, don’t stop._

You inch into the room, choosing your steps carefully only to be betrayed by a loose floorboard that creaks under your weight. Your jaw clenches so tight you fear your teeth might shatter in your mouth.

“Ahh, there you are, any trouble?” he purrs, remaining in place at the window, not even turning around.

Your fear is suffocating, but you do your best to fight it and swallow thickly “N-No, no trouble”.

“Mmh, good” a cloud of smoke rising above him.

You tip toe closer and closer, finally in reach of your satchel, taking it in your arms and turning swiftly.

_This was your chance._

_Get out. Run. Don’t stop._

_***CLICK*** _

_**The unmistakable cocking of a revolver behind you.** _

A lump forms in your throat, bile rising up around it, every hair on your body rising on end.

He speaks, a sinister growl “If I were _you_ friend, I’d choose my next moves _very carefully”_

And this is the _real_ him now, this is _Dutch_.

You remain still and listen as the footsteps approach behind you, slow and sure on the wooden floor, coming to a stop at your back. You don’t turn around to check, but you can practically _feel_ the barrel of the gun boring into the back of your skull.

Hot breath on your neck, he’s right behind you now.

“It would seem, we’ve both been a touch d _ishonest_ with each other… wouldn’t you agree _Y/N_?”

_Your name. Your real name._

_Not ‘Vic Abberton’ or whatever Bullshit you had come up with. How in the hell had he-_

The leather of the satchel in your hands drags you back to reality and you feel the blood drain from your cheeks.

_He had already been through your things. The bastard had wasted no time. By now he must know everything._

You open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

“You know, I don’t much like being _lied_ to”

Your earlier sense is confirmed when the barrel of the gun presses to your head. You grit your teeth and wait for the shot and inevitable blackness of your end.

Your anger catches up with you, mostly frustration with _yourself,_ but its enough to give you a rush of confidence.

“You won’t intimidate me” you spit through your teeth “You’re nothing but a common _criminal”_

_This was it. You were going to die here and now. So you may as well go out fighting._

“Ohoh.. Is that so?” he’s stepping around you now, keeping his gun trained on your skull as he pushes the door closed with his boot and locks it, sealing your last chance of escape.

He’s close again now and you’re aware now of how much bigger he is than you, at least a head taller.

“You’ve got a big mouth, and I’m in my mind to silence it”

Your mind is replaying the wanted poster again and again in your head.

‘ _WANTED FOR ROBBERY-’_

A hand at your throat, forcing your neck upwards, teeth grazing your ear.

‘ _-MURDER-’_

Dry breathless gasps, Your legs turning numb underneath you, arousal prickling up your spine at the trail of bite marks being left down your neck, his free hand moves to the back of your head, knotting in your hair, rings catching on the strands.

‘ _-ASSAULT-’_

An unrelenting tug on your hair, marching you towards the closed door before turning you around and backing you into it, shoulders pressed uncomfortably to the wood.

Your mouth was dry, your hands balled to fists at your side, your veins pounding… yet still, a glow of want.

Peril… danger

These feelings are new, and as much as you hate the fact, they _excite_ you.

You feel your body relax just a fraction as he lowers his revolver, twirling it effortlessly around his finger before returning it neatly to its holster.

“Down”

Both hands on your shoulders now.

You stay where you are and his grip tightens, forcing you to sink to your knees, voice dripping with venom “I _said, DOWN”._

Your satchel falls to your side and you shift uncomfortably in the tight space, trapped with the door at your back and his crotch at your front.

His hands move quickly, undoing his trousers and freeing the half-hard cock from its confines.

You swallow dryly at the sight of it, thick and heavy. Black curls at the base that were cropped back and tamed.

“Now, you’re gonna keep that dirty little mouth of yours busy and let me finish my work, ok?” he leers, stroking a calloused hand against your cheek.

“Yes” you whimper, and you squeak as the same hand forces your eyes up to his.

“Call me S _ir,_ you seemed to have no problem doing so earlier”

“ _Yes sir”_

“Mmm… that’s better, now get to work” he growls.

You take his cock in your hand tentatively, giving yourself a moment to familiarise yourself with its weight before pumping it gently.

You eye his guns nervously, but he seems to have no intention of drawing them again. Instead slipping a hand down to pluck up your satchel and pulling out the contents with the other, tossing the empty bag to the side.

He paws over your possessions, slipping any valuables (including your pocketwatch) under his vest before licking a finger and flicking through your paperwork.

_As calm as ever._

_As if you weren’t knelt below him working his cock._

He steps in closer to you, muttering under his breath as he reads. You take the hint and lick your lips before slipping them over the head of his cock, swirling your tongue around it earning the tiniest of sounds from his throat.

“Interesting,… _very_ interesting” he smiles “seems you’re awfully _close_ with the Braithwates huh?”

“Mmph-” you reply around his cock, picking up the pace when you feel his eyes on you again.

“H _ow_ close?”

You focus on his shaft, working your slick mouth over it faster in the hope of distracting him from his question, but to no avail.

He forces his hips forwards, pressing the back of your head to the door, his cock touching the back of your throat as you begin to choke, pushing back against his thighs with your hands to earn yourself a breath.

“Either you choke on this cock right here and now or you answer… _I said_ , how close?”

You shove against his hips and he complies, roughly withdrawing himself from your throat with a lewd sound.

“I-I work with them sir” you splutter between gasps “my ranch has a breeding program with- with their horses”

“That pay well?”

He’s bent over you now, his arms folded and resting on the door above you, bracing his weight, one boot crossed behind the other casually.

“Not as well as I’d like… but enough”

“oh really?”

He’s using his hips to rub himself against your cheek now and you want nothing more than to feel him in your mouth again, but you resist, sensing he isn't done with his questions just yet.

Sure enough he pulls you to your feet and presses you against the door again, gentler this time, tongue trailing across your neck leaving a trail of ice.

Its all… nothing like you had imagined. Nothing like the newspapers and books made it out to be. Outlaws were supposed dim-witted, hulking beasts of men with cruel faces and missing teeth. Yet Mr Van Der Linde is nothing like the stereotype… nor were _any_ of the men on the posters.

He’s smart, cunning, capable… and absolutely irresistible.

Perhaps that was how their gang had lasted so long.

His rough lips find yours, and you shiver at the sensation of his facial hair, goosebumps prickling over your arms and thighs.

He’s close now, one hand on your jaw, the other pressed to the door, one leg between your open ones and the press of his hard length to your groin is like fire.

A series of moans spill from your lips, you just cant hold the act any more, in this moment you would sell your very soul to him if he were to ask.

He chuckles low in his chest. Knowing damn well you fallen under his spell like countless others no doubt.

“Now, lets try this again Y/N” he breathes into your neck “what _sort_ of money are we talking about with these _Braithwaites_ ”

His tongue lashes against the junction of your neck and shoulder now making your pulse race. You gasp sharply, back curling instinctively at the sensation.

“Ah!- lots…. lots of money-” your eyes are screwed shut in pleasure, words spilling out amongst a mess of breathless whimpers “-they’re the richest- hahh- family in the state sir… outside- outside of the city”

He tugs at your shirt collar, exposing your shoulder and biting down on the sensitive skin, smirking at the yelp it elicits from you. You clamp a hand over your mouth, breathing heavily through your nose.

“Mmm... like music to my ears-” he purrs, turning you around effortlessly and pushing you face-first against the door. His chest presses against your back as he begins planting kisses to each of the already darkening bruises peppering your neck “-tell me more”

And he’s unravelling you now, plucking every secret from you.

“They’ve got gold sir-” you gasp “at least… that’s what I’ve heard… somewhere- _oh shit-_ somewhere in the grounds of the manor… from the- the war I think”

That must have piqued his interest as he’s grinding himself against your ass now, the slick hotness of his length catching against your pants. You push back against it, unashamed now, there was no use hiding your want any more.

The back and forth continues for a few minutes as you come undone against him. You tell him about your ranch, about the Braithwaites and the Grays, babbling deliriously with pleasure, not even sure if any of it was even all that useful. After what feels like forever, he finally pulls back and you whine pathetically at his absence.

“You did _so_ well my dear… such an _obedient_ little thing” he mutters, and its downright filty. He’s walking back to the window now, striking a match and lighting a second cigar before slowly fisting his cock as he turns to you again.

“Well? You gonna come over here and let me finish what we started?”

One hand on his hip, the other curled around the base of his cock, that smug cocky grin spread across his lips.

He knows he’s got you now, knows you cant resist.

You practically throw yourself across the room and over the bed. You had never had the time for sex and romance, luxuries like those long-since stolen away by you work.

He was a bad man, but not an _immoral_ one and with the adrenaline still burning in your veins… it would be a mistake to let go of an opportunity like this, you were under his spell and your body ached for his touch once more.

He slips a finger into you, then a second, pumping them and working you open for him. His other hand gets to work at kneading your ass, rings digging into fistfuls of flesh again and again, cigar pinched between two fingers far away enough to not burn, but enough for you to feel the heat of it on your skin.

“That’s it… _relax_ for me, just like that” his voice is softer now, satisfied. No doubt because he’s gotten exactly what he had planned to from you.

After a while his fingers are replaced by a hard bluntness and you whimper into your elbow, the reality of the situation crashing down on you.

You had never been with an older man before, let alone one so well endowed, and as he inches into you your toes curl and you whine, biting down into your arm.

Eventually he settles against you, an obscene groan spilling from his lips and over your skin as he leans over you to kiss your back.

Slowly, he begins to move, pulling himself out and pressing in again, both hands on your hips like a vice, but a thumb rubbing gently, soothing you.

“Jesus _…_ you’re tight, if I didn’t know better id say I was your first _”_

_He wasn’t, but your last time was so long ago he may as well have been._

The stretch is like nothing you’ve felt before, there is pain, but nowhere near enough to outweigh the sheer blinding pleasure that pulses through your body.

He picks up the pace, settling into a steady rhythm as he breaks you in and you groan, a long, deep unbroken sound that has him chuckling under his breath.

“you’re taking me so _well… shit-_ this what you’ve wanted all evening? _”_

_Of course it was. And he damn well knew it._

“maybe not in the way I thought it but… yes… god yes, it feels so...” you’re interrupted by your own noises as he hits you deep.

“Listen to that… ain’t that just the most _beautiful_ sound” a hand leaves your ass and hooks around your shoulder, pulling you back into him “Let’s hear you _sing_ dear”

Without warning he slams himself eye-wateringly deep into you, over and over. Your fingers knot into the sheets as you groan and yelp into them, a pool of saliva wetting the bed under your lips.

_God… this man FUCKS._

You turn your head to catch a glimpse of him and the sight is truly something. His slicked back hair is messy now, falling in loose strands and sticking to his sweat-covered forehead. Eyebrows knitted in concentration, snarling through his teeth and the cigar clamped between them.

“Goddamn…. I’m _close”_ he growls, both hands back on your hips again as he drags you back into his thrusts. You’re racing towards release yourself and surrender to him, the wind being blown from your lungs each time his skin slaps yours.

Your vision blurs and your body explodes with heat as you hit your peak, dry mouth screaming curses into the mattress. Your own release sends him over the edge, allowing himself a few more erratic thrusts before slamming in deep and spilling inside of you with a low and guttural groan that seems to reverberate around the very foundations of the room.

Your ears are ringing and the room spins with euphoria, but he holds you steady, trapping his cock inside of you as it twitches with the dregs of his hot spend.

After what feels like hours, he finally pulls himself from you with a grunt, spreading your ass to inspect his work with an appreciative hum.

You want to say something, anything, but your breath is still coming in ragged gasps. A pleasant warmth oozes from between your legs and exhaustion takes over.

As you drift into sleep, you hear the metal of a belt being tightened and the rustling of clothing, then the ghost of a kiss between your shoulder blades.

“Sleep well my dear, you’ve been a _real_ help”

***

The warm glare of the morning sun rouses you from your sleep, and as you push yourself up with a groan your body practically screams at you.

You ache all over, it feels like you’ve been trampled by a horse.

Then slowly, the night before comes back to you.

_Mr Van Der Linde, what you had told him, his touch, his lips._

Your eyes flick around the room, but he is nowhere to be seen.

If it were not for the soreness of your hips and the twinge of bruises at your neck you could have dismissed it as a particularly interesting dream.

_What time was it?_

As your eyes scan the room for a clock you notice the neatly folded paper on the sidetable, and on top of it… your fathers pocketwatch.

You unfold the note, rubbing your eyes to focus on the neatly curled handwriting.

“ _ **If you find yourself bored of the business life, why not pursue true freedom?**_

_**Come to Clemens point, on the eastern shore of Flat Iron Lake, show your pocketwatch and ask for Dutch.** _

_**~D.V.L”** _


End file.
